


The Lone Wolf Dies (But The Pack Survives)

by Child_OTKW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF Regulus Black, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protectiveness, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black raises Harry Potter, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Relationships, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, broken family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Child_OTKW/pseuds/Child_OTKW
Summary: Regulus was five when he learned that his mother was a cruel woman.Fresh from the cave and with revenge burning bright in his heart, Regulus was determined to restore his honour and rectify his mistakes - starting with his brother's godson.Faced with the inevitable return of the Dark Lord, Regulus prepared as best he could, but not even he foresaw all the consequences of his decision.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 68
Kudos: 696





	The Lone Wolf Dies (But The Pack Survives)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been on my tumblr at all in the last three days, you knew this was coming. I have no regrets. Also, I've decided Regulus is mine now.

Regulus was five when he learned that his mother was a cruel woman.

He stared, trembling in the corner of the room, as Sirius writhed on the polished wooden floor of the study, mouth opened in a soundless scream as their mother’s curse tore through him. The training wand he had been using for the lesson had dropped from his hand and rolled towards Regulus after a blind kick from Sirius’ leg. A futile attempt to escape the pain.

Regulus reached down, picked it up off the ground— _a good wizard never drops his wand_ —and wound his small hands around it to hide how they shook. 

He forced himself to watch, knowing that if he looked away, if his mother caught him turning, it would be labelled a weakness.

And weaknesses must be purged.

So, Regulus stood, quiet and pale, as the curse was finally lifted, and his brother was left limp and panting on the floor. Drool trailed from the corners of his mouth, down to his chin, and weariness dug harsh lines into his face.

“Pathetic,” their mother spat, though her anger had given way to cool disappointment. “You must do better next time, Sirius. I expect better from my heir.” She cast her gaze around the room, dark eyes landing on Regulus for a moment. He twitched, unable to stop the flinch, and her lips curled downwards. After an endless minute, she spun on her heel and walked to the door, pausing only to call over her shoulder, “Take him to his room.”

Regulus waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps, then crept to his brother’s side.

Sirius was curled around his middle, arms tucked against his stomach. He appeared unconscious, but when Regulus laid his hand gently on his back, Sirius’ grey eyes slid open and blinked up at him sightlessly. The smile his brother tried to give him was the thing that finally made Regulus’ eyes burn.

“‘m fine, Reg,” Sirius tried to say, his voice hoarse.

“You are not,” he whispered, moving his hand from Sirius’ back to his hair, smoothing some of the wet strands away. “Can you stand? You should rest on your bed.”

His brother grimaced, but he unfurled enough to let Regulus loop his arm around his shoulders and pull him to his feet.

Together, they stumbled up the staircase, legs uncoordinated but determined. Regulus fumbled with the handle, but eventually succeeded in dragging them into Sirius’ room. He dropped his brother on his bed and carefully shifted Sirius so that he was laying comfortably.

He placed the training wand on the bedside table and stared down at his brother.

Sirius watched him in return, mouth pinched at the lingering pain. There was a question in his eyes, but Sirius was much too proud to ask.

Regulus dipped his head, shoulders hunching. “Can I stay?”

Sirius sighed in relief, lifting an arm in silent invitation. Regulus folded himself into his brother’s space, sticking his head under Sirius’ chin and staring at the hollow of his throat. The pulse in his neck still beat too fast.

An arm draped around his back, heavy with exhaustion.

They lay like that for almost ten minutes before Sirius spoke. “You have to be better than me,” he whispered, lips buried in Regulus’ hair. “You can’t mess up, Reggie. You can’t give her a reason to hurt you. Promise me.”

Regulus gripped the front of Sirius’ shirt, took a breath, and nodded once. “I promise.”

*

Regulus was seven when he broke that promise.

He barely had time to process the sting of his own frustration at seeing the spell dissipate seconds after it left the wand—before he was on the floor, back arching as fire burned through his veins.

He _screamed._

It was unlike anything he had experienced before, the kind of pain that drove the air from his lungs and made him feel as if his muscles were dissolving under his skin, his joints pulled in every direction at once. His jaw clamped shut, blood filling his mouth from where he had bitten through his tongue.

Regulus wanted to die.

The pain ceased as abruptly as it began. Regulus rolled onto his side, shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs.

Distantly, through the haze, he could make out Sirius’ voice, loud as thunder. Regulus turned his head, watching through the tears as his brother shouted at their mother, and how he was sent sprawling under the force of her hand.

There was blessed silence, blackness encroaching his vision. Regulus sank into it with a soft moan.

He came back to awareness in his room, bleary-eyed and drained, with his hand held tightly in both of Sirius’.

There was a thin red cut next to Sirius’ right eye, shallow but beaded with tiny dots. Regulus’ mouth ached along with the rest of him, his teeth still stained red when he tried to speak.

His brother said nothing when he realised Regulus had awoken, but there was a wildness in his eyes that spoke of untold rage and protectiveness. Sirius threaded their fingers together, and Regulus used what little strength he had to squeeze back.

An understanding passed between them.

Necessity and desperation bred action.

By the end of the year they had read every book pertaining to healing in the family library.

By Regulus’ next birthday, they were proficient enough to fix almost any damage their mother did to them.

*

Regulus was nine and Sirius’ arms were warm when he pulled him into a hug. He burrowed into his brother’s neck, mindful not to crease the new, crisp uniform. He fought the urge to cry.

“You’ll be okay,” Sirius murmured, mouth barely moving as it rested against his ear.

Regulus nodded, more for his brother’s sake than his.

They both knew that the coming months would be hell for him. With Sirius going away to Hogwarts, there would be no one else to bear the brunt of their mother’s attention. For the first time in his life, Regulus would be without Sirius to watch out for him.

They had never spent more than a few hours apart. Their cousins teased them about their closeness, insinuations Regulus had only recently begun to understand; and while the very thought of their words made his nose crinkle in disgust, the agony of having his brother away from him was new and frightening.

But underneath the fear, Regulus was also relieved that his brother would be away from their suffocating existence, even if only for a short while. Sirius might be filled with guilt and reservations, the same uncertainty in Regulus’ heart mirrored in his eyes—but he would be _free._

He could handle their mother, had enough practice at this point to keep himself safe; but Sirius had a growing restlessness in him that concerned Regulus. Going to Hogwarts would hopefully temper it.

He sighed, stepping back to give his brother a small smile. Regulus looked at him, took in the blank Hogwarts uniform, how straight Sirius’ shoulders were, and felt pride swell in his chest. “You will look good in green,” he said, lips curling more genuinely.

Sirius’ answering grin was smooth and boisterous. “It is our colour,” he chirped, hands on his hips. “How long do you reckon it’ll take me to run Cissy up the wall?”

Regulus huffed a laugh, thinking of their older cousin and her consternation whenever she saw Sirius. He shook his head, looking away to hide his amusement. “Knowing you,” he said slyly, “two minutes.”

Sirius hummed, tilting his head back. “I must be losing my touch if you doubt me that much.”

Regulus went to speak, retort on the tip of his tongue, when they heard one of the upper level doors open. Their good mood died.

They looked up, then shared a grim glance. With synchrony resulting from years of ritual, Regulus and Sirius turned to greet their parents as they descended the towering staircase, their arms twisted loosely together.

Regulus stepped to the side, slipping into the background of the proceedings, as was expected of him. He watched, hands tucked behind his back, as Sirius stoically endured their parents’ scrutiny. He took the chance to burn the sight of his brother into his mind, knowing it would not be until Yule that he would have the chance to see him again.

Their mother reached out and caught Sirius’ chin in her long fingers, pulling his head up until he met her fierce gaze. “Do not fail me,” she said, low with unspoken warnings.

Sirius nodded stiffly.

Regulus followed them to the fireplace and took the chance to duck close to Sirius when their parents busied themselves with the floo powder.

“Good luck,” he whispered, eyes darting feverishly to their mother. “I know you will be the best one there.”

His brother did not reply, but some of the tightness around his eyes had lessened with gratitude. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards.

Content that he had alleviated some of the tension, Regulus retreated swiftly.

“Attend to your studies,” his mother ordered as the three of them stepped into the green flames. Regulus tipped his head in acknowledgement, watching as they disappeared in a bright flash.

His brother was strong and intelligent, the type that would break before he bent, and he was not easily impressed—as their mother had ensured—but neither of them had much experience interacting with people outside of their family.

Regulus spared a moment to pray that Sirius would be alright.

He should have prayed for himself.

*

The next night Regulus spent curled up on the floor of his bathroom, spitting blood and bile into the toilet, his arms still quivering from the aftereffects of his mother’s wrath.

 _Gryffindor._

Regulus closed his eyes and pressed his flushed face into the cool ceramic of the bowl. His fingers clenched weakly at the smooth surface, and his breath hitched as another spasm crawled through him.

“Master Regulus?” A voice asked.

Regulus could still remember the black rage that had spilled across his mother’s face as she read the letter—not even from Sirius, from _Narcissa_ —that had revealed the truth of his brother’s sorting. Regulus had only had to hear the House name fall flatly from his mother’s lips to know what would happen.

He had wordlessly followed her to the study, had stood before her and tried not to flinch when she finally levelled her wand at him, and his entire world erupted into pain once more.

It had felt like hours under his mother’s curse, screeching as he attempted to claw himself out of his skin. The torment only ending when his father stepped in and sent him to his room to clean himself up.

Now the house was silent around him, and Regulus let himself breathe.

He wanted to be angry at Sirius. He wanted to yell and cry and break something—because _how stupid could he be?_ Did Sirius _want_ to make everything so much harder than it already was? Did he think at all about how his actions would reflect on their family, on Regulus? Did he spare a single thought to his younger brother, trapped in this house with their unstable mother and apathetic father, without any protection from their combined madness?

Did he care at all?

Regulus _wanted_ to despise Sirius, but even with betrayal and blood on his tongue, he knew that there was nothing his brother could do that would ever make Regulus hate him.

“Young master?”

“Kreacher,” he whispered, looking at the wrinkled face. “Can you help me clean up?”

The house-elf approached him slowly, huge eyes concerned. “Is Mistress displeased?” He asked, hushed with fear.

Regulus closed his eyes, turning his head into the crook of his elbow. “Sirius made her mad,” he explained tiredly, “Sirius did something and she took it out on me because he is not here.”

Something complicated twisted over the house-elf’s features. “Master Regulus should…not be punished.” He said slowly, as if tasting the words in his mouth and finding himself surprised to mean them.

Regulus choked on a laugh, squinting at Kreacher in bewilderment.

“Punishment is for not following orders,” Kreacher continued, still uneasy, but trusting that Regulus would not reprimand him. “Master Regulus always follows orders.”

He smiled at the house-elf, the expression mangled with grief and resignation. “Life is not that simple,” he said gently, “sometimes—sometimes we have to pay for others’ mistakes, Kreacher. And there is nothing we can do but take it.”

Kreacher looked distressed, but he hunched in understanding. Regulus sighed, shifting in his place. “Help me?” He asked, exhaustion flooding him.

The house-elf bowed, though Regulus could barely see in the dim light. “Always, Master Regulus.”

*

Sirius did not apologise when he came back for the Yule break.

He did not submit to their mother’s rage. He did not acknowledge their father’s scorn.

He _did_ sit next to Regulus on the stairs his second night back and grip his shoulder desperately.

“Did she hurt you?” He asked, fervent.

Regulus looked at him and knew the truth would destroy him—that he had spent months suffering endlessly, bloodied and bruised and wishing for his older brother to rescue him. 

If he told Sirius that, the guilt would eat him alive.

So, he smiled and shook his head, “Not much. She was upset, but I made myself scarce.” 

Sirius closed his eyes as he sighed, head bowing in relief. “Good. That’s good, Reggie. I’m glad.”

Regulus tipped into his brother’s side, soaking in his warmth. “Tell me about Hogwarts?” He asked, leaning his head back. “Your handwriting is so bad I can barely make out what you’re saying.”

“Brat.” Sirius snorted, then proceeded to tell him everything.

Regulus fell asleep to the sound of his brother’s voice, content despite the scars now branded into his back.

*

Regulus was eleven and the Hogwarts Express was a gleaming beast of metal and steam. He stared up at it in carefully concealed wonder, swallowing the bite of nerves in his stomach at the sight of it in all its majesty.

The platform was crowded, the noise of hundreds of voices overlapping and disorientating him.

A hand gripped his shoulder. He turned to his mother.

Her cool gaze was already fixed on him, searching his face for any signs of weakness. Regulus made sure there were none.

He had grown accustomed to the weight of his mother’s attention in the past years, had learned to navigate through her twisted web of beliefs and expectations with a deftness that Sirius had never quite managed. His brother much preferred the path of least resistance when it came to their home life, and his solution of outright avoidance was surprisingly effective. The only downside was that, more often than not, it was Regulus who fell into her sight instead.

Regulus quickly scanned the area for his brother, though he knew the chances of finding him were low. Sirius had chosen to arrive more than an hour before the rest of their family and had likely already boarded the train in an effort to dodge any confrontation with their mother.

The divide Sirius’ sorting had caused in their family was still a pulsating wound, the scandal never quite out of the memories of the other pureblood families they saw. For both their sakes, and to protect the nebulous balance they had all fallen into, Sirius and Regulus had decided to lessen their time together.

The distance, while distasteful, was a necessary measure. Though Regulus had hope that now that they would both be attending Hogwarts, he and Sirius would have more time to spend together.

His mother’s hand squeezed tight around his shoulder, nails digging into his new school robes. Regulus returned his attention to her, meeting her eyes solemnly. “You know what you must do,” she told him, and the severity of her words made him cold. “You must uphold the family name, Regulus. You must restore our honour.”

“Of course, mother,” he replied evenly, though fear beat against his chest like a rabid beast. 

He did not have an option, he knew. There would be no second chances for him, no leniency. It was Slytherin, or nothing. 

“I will make you proud.”

“See that you do. Now go.”

Regulus gripped his suitcase tightly, and with a nod, he moved towards the train. All around him, children were calling goodbye to their families, hugging and laughing and some even crying. 

The railing was cold under his palm, and the first step he took had his eyes slipping shut in bliss.

*

“Finally,” Sirius groaned, taking his suitcase from him, and tugging on the front of his uniform. “I thought it would be hours before you managed to get away. Come on, before I die of old age.”

Regulus snorted, letting his brother steer him without complaint, internally revelling at being able to speak with him once more. “Nice to see you too, dearest brother.”

Sirius grinned, the shadows in his eyes chased away in the wake of his joy. “I want you to meet my friends, Reggie.”

Regulus smiled, curling his hands around his brother’s wrist, and pulling his coat free so that the sight they made was slightly less damaging to his pride. “If they can put up with you, they must be saints.”

His brother barked a laugh, coming to a stop and yanking a compartment door open with flourish. “Get in, you gnome.”

“Rude,” Regulus huffed, then added, “at least I do not look like a toad in the mornings.”

Sirius pushed him inside, closing the door behind them. There were three other boys in the compartment watching them, but before Regulus could greet them, his brother’s arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him down, a hand mussing his hair.

“Sirius,” he hissed, limbs immediately lashing out, “let me go!”

“Apologise.” 

_“Fuck you_ —no.”

Sirius gasped, releasing him to place a hand against his chest. _“Reggie,”_ he started, going for appalled but missing by a good mile, “where did you learn such language?”

Regulus glared mulishly at his brother, trying to fix his hair. He took a pointed step away from the other, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“I wonder,” a new voice interjected, sounding amused. 

Regulus’ cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the reminder that they were not quite alone. Sirius laughed again, gesturing at the other boys. “Reggie, this is James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—some of my Housemates. Guys, this is my little brother, Regulus.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Regulus said, dipping his head politely, then doing another, proper bow to Potter. The boy rolled his eyes, but he responded appropriately.

“It’s nice to meet you, Regulus,” Lupin said, leaning forward with a tentative smile. The scars on his face pulled with the expression, but Regulus was hardly one to judge, not when his body was riddled with his own. “Sirius has told us a lot about you, he was really excited that you were starting this year.”

“Remus,” Sirius moaned, “you’re not supposed to tell him that.”

Regulus glanced down at his shoes; pleased and struggling to hide it. “He has told me a lot about you as well, it’s nice to put faces to the names.”

Sirius snagged his sleeve and guided him into the seat next to him. Regulus settled happily; their thighs pressed together.

A shudder ran through the compartment, and they all looked up. “Departure time,” Potter declared, hopping up and plastering himself against the window. “Mum always gets sad if I don’t wave goodbye,” he said, though no one had questioned him. Lupin slid into place beside him, eyes scanning for his family, followed almost immediately by Pettigrew.

Sirius and Regulus stayed in place. They both knew their parents would have left already.

“So, excited?” Sirius asked quietly, not wanting to disturb his friends. “It’s a big deal, I mean— _Hogwarts.”_

Regulus bit his lip, his hands folding awkwardly on his lap. “I am, I’ve been waiting for this for years.”

“But?”

He shrugged, avoiding his brother’s probing gaze. “I guess it’s just nerves.”

Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders, lowering his voice further. “No matter what, I’ll be proud of you.”

A weight around his heart eased.

They swayed as the train began to move. The others quietly dropped back into their seats. 

“So,” Potter said, hazel eyes moving to Regulus, inquisitive behind his glasses. “What House are you thinking you’ll be in, Regulus?”

“Slytherin,” Sirius answered immediately, his tone light but his eyes sharp as he stared at his friends. “Reggie will be in Slytherin.”

“Really?” Pettigrew asked, then grimaced when Sirius glanced at him. From his spot, Regulus could not make out the expression on his face, but it must have been something intense.

“Really,” Sirius repeated.

“Slytherin,” Potter said, musing. 

Regulus fiddled with his sleeve, “It is my family’s House.” He muttered.

“Not Sirius, though.” Potter corrected, and there was nothing confrontational about the way he said it, but the words had Regulus tensing regardless.

“Well, I’ve always been an odd duck,” Sirius chuckled, slouching into Regulus more. “But Reggie’s a better Black then I am.”

*

The stool was small, just like him, and Regulus gripped the rim of it tightly as his vision was obscured by the thick material of the Sorting Hat.

 _Well, hello,_ a deep voice echoed in his mind. Regulus did not flinch, already knowing what was going to happen, but shock still burst through him at how _other_ the presence in his thoughts felt.

_Another Black, and not so different from your brother._

That had Regulus’ head lifting a fraction in surprise. “What?” He mouthed, lips hardly moving.

_Oh, yes, and what a relief that is. So, where should we put you?_

Regulus swallowed, nails scraping along the wood, uncomfortable. There was only one option, he knew.

_Slytherin—are you sure? There are other paths better suited to you. You could easily fit with your brother._

He wanted to shake his head; fear of the hundreds of eyes currently staring at him was the only thing that stopped him. The thought of joining Sirius was too sweet, too dream-like, to ever consider. He would hardly call himself brave, and the countless times he had stood aside while his brother was ruined by their mother rushed to the forefront of his mind.

 _There are different kinds of bravery,_ the Sorting Hat murmured. _But if you’re sure—_

“Slytherin!”

He caught Sirius’ eye from across the hall, and though there was a small sliver of disappointment there, he could read the relief on his brother’s face just as easily.

*

Being in Slytherin was both everything he had been hoping for, and everything he had feared.

Regulus was one of the lucky ones, with a name as old as his and blood purer than all the other old families combined, he was relatively safe. 

His connection to many of the older Slytherin’s certainly did not hurt either.

The first night, after Professor Slughorn had disappeared back to his personal rooms, Narcissa approached him, blood red lips curved pleasantly. “Cousin,” she greeted, bending to kiss his cheeks. Her hands on his shoulders felt far too confining. “Congratulations, and well done. Aunt Walburga will be very happy to hear about this.”

Regulus could not remember if he had ever seen his mother _happy,_ but he was smart enough not to say. Too many ears were attuned to them right now.

“Already better than your brother, Black,” Alecto Carrow jeered from her place on the lounge. “At least you got the right House.” A few of the others began to laugh, the sound cruel.

Regulus tensed, offended on Sirius’ behalf.

“Shut up, Carrow,” Narcissa said in the exact same tone she used when ordering at a restaurant. “Regulus is nothing like Sirius. He is a _proper_ Black. Come, little cousin, sit with me.” Her perfectly manicured hand gripped his arm, pulling him lightly. “There is someone I want you to meet. He is delightful.”

*

_He_ was Severus Snape, and he was far from delightful.

He hated Regulus on sight.

*

Classes were interesting, a different flavour of the same knowledge he had been consuming since he could hold a book.

Regulus had already read through the course work, and his textbooks, and very quickly established himself as a brilliant, driven student. Most of his professors thought him dedicated, and they had plenty of compliments to shower him with—from his assignments to his wand work to his casting, he never failed to impress.

Even McGonagall, notoriously hard on all students, even her Gryffindors, spared him a smile whenever he succeeded with his transfigurations.

Praise, Regulus found, was rather addicting.

He only wished they would stop comparing him to his brother. He already knew Sirius was a prodigy, he did not need them all reminding him every time he achieved something.

*

He wrote to his mother once a week, dutifully retelling his efforts and the remarks of his professors.

Each letter he sent, he watched the owl as it disappeared into the sky and could not help but think _maybe this time._

Each letter he received back just demanded _more._

*

“And how are you going with potions?” Sirius asked, twirling his quill between his fingers.

Regulus paused in writing his essay, grey eyes skating absently over the book open in front of him. “Fine. Professor Slughorn seems happy with my work. The theory can be a little confusing sometimes. He…is not the best at explaining things.”

His brother snorted, rocking back on his chair, apparently wanting to test his balance. Regulus had the urge to kick the chair out from under him, and if they were not in the library, he might have followed through.

“Best watch out with that one, Reggie. If you’re too good, he’ll want to ‘collect’ you. Pretty young thing like you—he’ll eat you up.”

Regulus shot Sirius a disgusted look. “Don’t be crass, brother.”

“I’m just looking out for you. I think he brainwashes everyone in his little club. But it’s so wrong how he goes after students like…like they’re his money ticket or something. He’s such a Slytherin. _Ugh.”_

Regulus frowned at the comment, biting his lip uncertainly. Sirius, always observant, noticed immediately. He dropped forward, the chair legs banging painfully loud on the stone floor. He dropped his hand on Regulus’ forearm.

“I don’t mean you, Reggie. You’re one of the good ones.”

That did not make him feel any better, and Regulus was debating the consequences of saying anything when they were interrupted. “Sirius!”

His brother looked away at the call, smile appearing as a girl approached them, her hair as red as fiendfyre. “Lily,” he said brightly, waving her over. “How’s the smartest witch in Hogwarts?”

The girl laughed, adjusting the books in her arms. Her green eyes swiftly darted to Regulus, down to his tie, then back to Sirius. “I’m doing fine,” she said wryly, “how are you? Did you finish your Ancient Rune essay?”

Sirius flapped his hand with an air of deliberate disinterest. “Fine, fine; and yes. I was going to have Regulus look over it for me, but he’s resistant to my charms and won’t until he finishes his homework. Because he’s boring like that.”

Regulus glanced down at his parchment when Lily looked to him in interest. “There must be some benefit to growing up with you,” he murmured, and the girl chuckled.

“It’s nice to meet you Regulus. I’m Lily Evans.” She held out a pale hand, only a hint of trepidation on her face.

Regulus stared at her hand for a moment, confused. He glanced at his brother, though before she could pull back, habit spurred him into action. She was clearly not a pureblood; however, she was still a girl, and on friendly terms with his brother. Decorum had to be maintained.

Regulus brushed a polite kiss to her knuckles, as he was taught, then released her.

Green eyes blinked in shock, and after a beat Sirius started snickering. “Sorry, Lily,” he said, mirth thick in his voice. “Reggie is still learning how to switch off the courtly manners. I’ll break him out of it eventually.”

Evans, hiding her reaction well, turned and smacked his brother lightly on the shoulder without missing a beat. “I wish more boys _had_ manners, Sirius. You’re all hopeless.”

She shook her head, then shifted in her place. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone to finish your work. It was nice meeting you, Regulus. I’ll see you at lunch, Sirius.”

She walked off with a kind flutter of her fingers. Regulus watched her go, his frown deepening when he looked at Sirius. “A mudblood, brother?”

Any humour on Sirius’ face vanished, replaced with something cold and harsh. _“Don’t,”_ he snapped. 

Regulus leaned back automatically, stunned at the change. Sirius had never—

His brother closed his eyes and sighed, reigning back his anger. “You can’t call people that here, Reggie. You shouldn’t call them that at all. It’s not right.”

“I—but mother—”

Sirius gripped his hand firmly, waiting until Regulus was looking at him before speaking. “I don’t care what our mother says. I don’t ever want to hear you say that word again, Regulus. Promise me. Promise you won’t call anyone that.”

“I promise,” Regulus whispered, the words falling out of his mouth without any conscious thought. He just wanted Sirius to stop looking at him like that.

His brother stared at him hard for a few seconds, gauging his sincerity, then sat back in satisfaction. He nodded in approval, “Good.”

*

Regulus was twelve and he was suffocating in his own home.

His eyes did not move from the page in front of him as Sirius’ voice rose in the other room, matching their mother in tone and temper perfectly. His vision blurred, the words melding together as he tried desperately to ignore the escalating argument.

Some days he wanted to shake his brother, to demand that he, for once, not purposefully antagonise her. That he use that sharp intellect he so often forgot he had and _play the game_ instead of fighting back with every ounce of himself.

_Why can you not bend, brother, just this once?_

But it was a fruitless endeavour. Sirius would break before he bent.

*

Tension from home carried over to their lives at Hogwarts, no matter their efforts to remain unchanged.

It was getting harder to pretend that their family was not fracturing before their eyes—hard to ignore the way their mother was pitting them against each other, comparisons and disparaging remarks in front of guests and other family members, lavishing attention on Regulus while shoving Sirius to the side, making them duel in training to feed the slow building anger inside them.

Regulus watched the cracks begin to form between him and his brother and did not know how to fix what was breaking.

They were on the precipice of something horrible, and Regulus wanted to scream that it was not fair.

*

The moment everything fell apart, when it came, caught him unaware.

Regulus sneered up at Rowle, wanting nothing more than to claw the smug grin from the older boy’s face. There were other students beginning to cluster around them, whispers growing as the air filled with anticipation. 

“What’s the matter, little Black?” The boy asked, leaning closer, hunching mockingly so that their faces were level. “Cat got your tongue? Mother got your balls?”

A few laughed at the statement and Regulus flushed. Rowle’s smirk deepened, and he shoved Regulus back roughly, almost driving him to the ground.

“I can’t believe you’re the future of the Black family—guess all that inbreeding really does damage the _quality.”_

A harsh silence fell, and Regulus’ eyes widened despite his anger. He could not believe Rowle was stupid enough to bring up his family’s history in _public._ It was common knowledge—but not one spoken of so carelessly. What was worse, being from a pureblood family himself, Rowle would _know_ that.

Before Regulus could retort—he had been quiet too long, already he was losing ground—someone shot from the crowd and slammed their fist into the older Slytherin’s face.

Rowle hit the ground with a cry, the sound of his nose breaking under the blow echoed in the ensuing pause. Sirius stood in front of Regulus, scowl darker than a thundercloud as he snarled down at the other boy. 

“Want to talk about blood, Rowle? At least we don’t have ogre swimming in our line—face like that had to come from somewhere, right?”

Laughter surrounded them, bouncing off the walls and covering Rowle’s muttered curses as he picked himself up. He pulled his wand out, the crowd stepped back hurriedly. Sirius watched him coldly, mouth twisted in callous amusement. “Really?” He asked scornfully. “You want to lose that badly?”

Rowle hesitated, because everyone knew Sirius was an exceptional duellist, and he was not one to hold back. The older boy backed off, aiming one last bitter look at Regulus as he walked away.

The crowd around them began to disperse now that the situation was handled, and Regulus’ hands twisted around the strap of his bag when he noticed the expressions on most of his Housemates’ faces.

Dread pooled in his stomach. 

Sirius turned to him, concerned. “You alright, Reggie?” He reached out—to grab his shoulder or pat his head—and Regulus snatched his wrist before it could connect. He said nothing, merely turned and pulled his brother behind him, too aware of the eyes following them.

Sirius did not protest, trotting along. He knew something was wrong, gaze fixed on the back of Regulus’ head.

They stopped in an empty hallway, and Regulus released his brother so he could face him with a glare. “How could you do that?”

Sirius blinked, “What?”

“Do not act obtuse, Sirius. You stepped in with Rowle.”

His brother still looked confused; his head tilted to the side. “He pushed you, he was insulting you—why wouldn’t I step in?”

“I didn’t _want_ you to!” Regulus hissed, frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging until his scalp stung. “You have no idea what you have done, do you?”

The first flickers of annoyance erupted in his brother’s eyes. _Good._ Regulus was angry too.

“I punched the dickhead who thought he had the right to touch my little brother.” Sirius’ hands jerked at his sides, and there was still that damned confusion in his voice. “What’s the problem, Rowle’s an arse, no one will care that I hit him.”

“The problem is you jumped into _my_ argument. With another Slytherin, an _older_ Slytherin. You can’t do that, Sirius. You just made me lose face in front of my own House.” Regulus’ hand swept wide, trying to convey the severity of the situation to his brother. “Whatever status I had is in jeopardy because of that stunt.”

Sirius frowned, but he was listening. He looked to the side, mouth pinching. “But…I’ve always protected you.”

“And I have never asked you to,” Regulus snapped, eyes fluttering closed. He remembered every broken bone, every curse, every pained gasp he let out, every bruise that Sirius had gotten when he tried to take Regulus’ punishments. “I don’t need your help here, Sirius. I need you to _not interfere.”_

His brother stepped back, openly stunned. Regulus winced, moving forward to attempt to wipe that hurt away from his brother’s eyes.

“Everything alright here?”

Regulus froze, head snapping to the side.

James Potter stood a few feet away, half hidden by the corner. His eyes darted between them, and when he caught the expression on Sirius’ face, his own turned stony. He looked at Regulus, accusation bright in his gaze.

Regulus’ shoulders rose, “None of your business, Potter.”

“Just a small disagreement, James,” Sirius said, his hands slipping into his pockets. 

Potter frowned, and he was clearly not going to let this go. “Didn’t sound small to me. You alright, mate?”

Sirius smiled. It looked painful. “Fine, just the same old drama, you know?”

Regulus glanced at Sirius sharply, but he saw how Potter nodded out of the corner of his eye, and understanding bloomed. 

“What?” He demanded, drawing their attention. Potter came closer, standing at Sirius’ side. Regulus eyed him, something hot burning in his chest at how their arms brushed, how Sirius relaxed in his presence—and why had he even been that tense? “What have you told him, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged, “Most of it, you know. Mum, dad, the sessions. James is my best friend, Reggie.”

Regulus stared at him, aghast. He had spoken about their parents, their _training,_ with an outsider? With the heir of a rival family?

“What the fuck, Sirius!” He spat, horror wrapping around his throat and squeezing. “Why the hell would you tell him anything?”

Potter raised his hands, “Whoa, hey, Regulus, calm down. It’s not—”

“You stay out of this,” he growled, pointing at the other threateningly, “this doesn’t concern you. This is between me and my brother. What were you thinking, Sirius? Are you actively trying to rip our family apart? You cannot just…bring people into our issues!”

His brother’s face was blank, though his eyes blazed with a fury that Regulus had only seen glimpses of over the years. It had never once been turned on him before, and Regulus balked.

“What family?” Sirius sneered, “Our mother is batshit insane, our dad barely acknowledges us, and you—” he cut himself off.

Regulus’ chest hurt. “What about me, Sirius?”

His brother would not meet his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, and slowly shaking his head instead. His refusal to elaborate, to clarify, to take the implication of his words back, had Regulus’ eyes burning. A lump lodged in his throat, and he stepped back, hands uselessly clutching his bag strap to hide how terribly they were trembling.

“Oh, Reggie,” Sirius tried to follow him, but Regulus retreated again, turning his head away. “Regulus.”

“No.” He said as firmly as he could manage while on the verge of tears. “No, you have made yourself clear enough. I am glad to know where I stand with you—and I am sure mother will be pleased too.”

“It’s not like that, Regulus.” Sirius said, his eyes widening as he realised. “I just meant…” he gestured helplessly, and Regulus was so weak, because he stood there and gave him the chance to continue. “You’re always nodding along to what they say, asking ‘how high’ whenever they say jump. I’ve heard you at those stupid parties, the things you say—”

Regulus’ eyes narrowed, “I say what is expected of me. Gods know one of us has to.”

Sirius groaned, rubbing at his face, his silver tongue failing him for once. “But you don’t, Reggie. You _don’t_ have to, but you do it anyway.”

Regulus laughed, loud and bordering on manic. “You cannot be that stupid,” he said, and dammit but there were tears in his eyes again. He could hear Bella’s taunting in his ears already.

_Crybaby._

“Not all of us have the luxury of being brave, Sirius. Not all of us are the heir.”

“Luxury.” Sirius repeated, and the flat way he said it was reminiscent of their mother.

“I can’t do this,” Regulus said, pressing his hand over his eyes. He scraped together what was left of his composure, “I have some damage control to do. Just…just leave me alone.”

*

Sirius left him alone for the whole year.

*

Regulus was thirteen and his thin arms encircled his knees as he waited on the bottom step of the main staircase.

He could not say what compelled him to be up at this hour, to be here in the foyer instead of in his bed. Perhaps it was the argument earlier in the night, the glint he had seen in Sirius’ eyes when their mother turned her back, dismissing them both from dinner. Perhaps it was the way Sirius had closed the door to his room, and the sight of his trunk on his bed. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this day was always going to come.

He heard the soft click of a door closing, the careful steps as they descended the stairs, the sudden pause when they rounded the last bend and saw Regulus perched facing the front door.

The silence between them was smothering, and Regulus idly noted that it had been eighty-three days since they had spoken to each other.

After an uncomfortably long time, Sirius continued walking, slipping past Regulus without looking at him. Regulus had no such plans. He watched his brother, watched the white-knuckled grip he had on his trunk, watched the frantic twitch to his movements. 

He could stop this, they both knew. All it would take was a word, a shout, and the wards would lock, their parents would come running.

Sirius would stay. 

Sirius would hate him forever.

“If you leave,” he murmured, taking in the way tension wound through his brother’s body, close to snapping, “you cannot come back.”

It was a warning more than anything, one last piece of advice. An unspoken _please be sure_ from one brother to another. Their mother was not a forgiving woman, and Regulus needed Sirius to understand what he was sacrificing.

 _Who_ he was sacrificing.

His brother paused on the threshold, hand on the doorknob. He did not turn around, though his chin tipped in an aborted attempt to look over his shoulder that was never completed. Even in the darkness, he could see the unwavering determination on Sirius’ face.

Regulus shut his eyes.

The door closed.

*

Regulus was fifteen, Sirius had been gone for two years, and there were whispers growing in the shadows of their society.

They had been there for years, almost a decade now, but the fervour was finally reaching out from the depths and into the ears of the mainstream. Regulus listened, quiet and dutiful and hiding the slow churning horror that was seeping inside him, as a title, a _name,_ passed from mouth to mouth.

_Lord Voldemort._

It was said reverently—if it was said at all. People’s eyes were beginning to glow with a dangerous kind of passion.

Already, there were reports of attacks on Light-inclined families, on muggleborns and half-bloods, on muggles themselves. _The Prophet_ was going rabid with the stories, printing tale after tale of masked figures and terrorism, spinning the wheels and spreading the fear and panic wider and faster than a toxin in the bloodstream.

Regulus was too intelligent not to see what this was all leading up to.

_War._

It was a terrifying concept. He had never seen war, never seen the havoc a Dark Lord could unleash—only had the stories of his parents to go on, of Grindelwald, of the World War. And the more he heard, the more he feared.

The halls in Hogwarts seemed darker, these days. Fear was on the face of every muggleborn he saw, the way they walked more harried, their heads ducked and skin ashen. 

Students were being taken from lessons at increasing frequency, some coming back the next day red-eyed and broken; others not coming back at all.

The professors were quieter, the curriculum changing. Potions was focussed on draughts and serums. Charms, on healing and protective measures. Ancient Runes, on ward breaking.

Defence, on duelling.

Regulus sat amongst his Housemates, hearing how they spoke with excitement and glee, mentions of sides and expectations, and thought _they are preparing us to be soldiers._

Then someone would turn to him, asking his opinion on _this_ or _that,_ and he would fall into the role he had crafted for himself.

He ignored the dark looks his not-brother sent him every time he had to laugh at an insensitive joke.

Sirius had chosen his side; Regulus was not so lucky.

*

He entered his room and closed the door, slumping into the wall the moment he was safe.

His wand slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and— _a good wizard never drops his wand_ —Regulus looked down at his bleeding nails with tired resignation.

The taint of Dark magic was still there, intoxicating and too much for him to process. His mother had been harsher in their lesson today, not just duelling and curses and other Dark spells; but the Unforgiveables.

She had not let him rest until he could cast all three to her standard. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the wall and gritting his teeth as pleasure rushed through him, mingling with disgust when he recalled the surprised _squeak_ the mouse had let out when he had finally cast the killing curse and ended its torment.

He placed his hand over his mouth, unable to tell if the sudden tightness in his gut was exhilaration at the subtly approving nod his mother had graced him with, or horror of how far he had had to go to get that much from her.

Regulus’ shoulders began to shake.

*

He knew what she was preparing him for, and though she had never once spoken the desire aloud, the night his mother invited Bellatrix to dine with them, he knew he had to make his choice.

His cousin was beautiful, dressed in a blood red lace gown that hugged her figure. Her dark curls were piled atop her head, only a few carefully selected strands falling elegantly around her face—but it was her eyes that captured Regulus’ attention the most.

Large and eager, a brown so dark they seemed black. They stood out from her pale face like obsidian on snow and hooked into his soul whenever she stared at him.

Her smile was small, pleased, nothing at all like the grins he had seen on her in the past.

“Baby cousin,” Bellatrix said, stepping into his space and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, almost certainly leaving a mark there. “Walk with me? I find myself forgetting what the garden looks like.”

The garden was barely more than a maze of thornbushes, and Regulus suspected Bellatrix remembered it all too well, considering her fondness for pushing he and Sirius into them whenever the chance arose when they were younger.

He did not want this, but his mother’s expectations were a chain around his neck, and Regulus had grown used to the weight.

He offered his hand, pulling Bellatrix into his side, and led her to the garden.

She left two hours later, with a promise to return after his birthday.

When Regulus came back inside, his mother looked up from the fire, and smiled at him for the first time.

*

Regulus was sixteen when he willingly knelt before the Dark Lord.

The man was shadow and ice, beautiful but lethal. His magic polluted the room and the air, so thick Regulus could taste it in the back of his mouth. His eyes were like fire though, and they shone with interest when Bellatrix announced him. Her hands were talons on his shoulders.

“Orion’s son,” the man mused, voice soft and pleasant. 

Regulus—whose life until this moment had always been defined by Walburga—wanted to cry.

His mother had had plenty of insults for him over the years. The worst one had always been _soft._

“Tell me, young Regulus,” the man continued, “why do you wish to join our cause?”

Regulus paused. There were a thousand and one answers he could give. A thousand and one answers that this man would have heard before, in some variant or another. 

He could speak of his mother. He could speak of Sirius; of the shame his brother had brought to their family by running to the other side. He could spin a tale of his own ambitions, lies so fragrant he could even convince himself they were the truth.

Regulus looked up, suddenly daring, and met those red eyes. 

He asked a question of his own. “How could I not?”

The satisfaction on the Dark Lord’s face was the sweetest poison he had ever encountered.

*

Regulus was eighteen, and he was dying with a secret he should never have carried.

His fingers, numb and ungainly, clawed over the rough crystal that made up the island. Each breath he took stoked the fire in his lungs more, his thirst monstrous, as if he were choking down embers. He dragged his useless body closer to the lake, nearly sobbing in anguish as his arms gave out under him.

He could not see, his wand somewhere behind him. The _lumos_ he had cast had died with Kreacher’s departure, leaving him in the oppressive darkness. He was alone, his memories tormenting him, but above the insidious whispers he could hear the rhythmic beat of the water against the rock. The sound cut through his panic, drawing him like a siren’s call.

Regulus rolled over a jagged ledge, each point slicing through his robes and scratching at his skin, digging into his tender muscles. He whined, high and wounded, breath hitching. 

He had thought he knew pain—thought he had learned it long ago under his mother’s wand, thought that the mark on his forearm was the worst he could experience. But nothing could compare to the agony in his throat.

He slumped, curling into a ball, inches from the edge of the island. His body trembled uncontrollably. “Sirius,” he croaked, eyes clamped shut, _“Siri—Sirius.”_

The desire to have his brother beside him welled, to have Sirius wrap him in his arms and hold him, barricading him in that warm embrace.

But he would never have that again. Sirius despised him.

_“Please.”_

There was blood in his mouth.

He could hear the water.

Regulus stretched his arm out blindly, his fingers skimming the surface of the black lake.

A bony hand shot out and snared his wrist, ice cold and grip like iron. Nails hooked into his skin and ripped. Regulus wheezed, flailing, wrenching his hand back, but the thing was not letting go. His terror overtook him.

_“Kreac—”_

He was submerged.

Regulus writhed, eyes open but sightless and stinging from the water. Fingers tore at his hair, teeth sinking into his back and shoulders, and water filled his mouth when he tried to scream.

A hand clamped at his face, and the world disappeared.

*

“Rest, Master.” A voice murmured, familiar and shaking. “Rest.”

*

Regulus was nineteen, and the woman across from him looked haggard, mistrust barely hiding the raw grief in her pale blue eyes. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, her dress clean and her jewellery polished to a shine.

At twenty-four, Petunia Dursley looked very little like her sister. 

At twenty-four, she looked every inch the muggle she was.

There was an empty cup in front of him, the dredges of a disappointingly plain tea sitting in the bottom. The china was flower-patterned and gaudy to Regulus’ eyes, but he had drunk it anyway in a pathetic attempt to erase the memory of thirst that still haunted him.

“They said it was over,” she said eventually, twisting her wedding ring anxiously. “They said…the letter. He said the war was done.”

“War is never done,” Regulus replied, watching her evenly from across the table. “There are stops and gaps, but the fighting never ends.”

Her expression pinched, and she swallowed, discomfort radiating from every pore. “What about the boy then? The note said he would be safe here. My blood, Lily and I—”

“Blood magic is powerful,” Regulus agreed, and even now he could feel the strength of the wards surrounding him. Dormant, currently, but the moment his intent became harmful, he would be strangled. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had been allowed on the property with the faded mark on his forearm. “But it is…subjective. And there are ways around it, as there are with every spell.”

The vial around his neck proved that much. Regulus had never been more grateful for his mother’s paranoia than in this moment. Sirius had sworn an oath to protect Harry, and his blood carried that promise.

“He said I had to keep him,” the woman whispered, “he said there was no other way. That it was for our own safety.”

Regulus ran his thumb over his palm, considering his words.

“Do you really want to drag your family into a war they have nothing to do with? Your husband, your son—are you willing to risk their lives in this?”

Her shoulders drew tight. “We have no part in that,” she snapped, “we aren’t from your world.”

He gave her a grim smile, “The people who will come after him, they will not care. You are harbouring him; you will be targeted. And the wards stop at the footpath. Tell me, will you hide in your house forever, living in constant fear that the first stranger you encounter on the street will try to murder you all?”

Her face paled, her hand rising to clutch at her throat in dismay.

“Let me take him,” Regulus continued softly, “he deserves to be raised with his own kind.”

Disdain danced across her narrow features. “Maybe he shouldn’t be,” she retorted, “just look what happened to him because of _your kind.”_

Regulus could hear the long-nurtured resentment in her tone, the naked jealousy. “You have a chance to have a normal life,” he persisted, “you can live out your days safe and far removed from our mess. But Harry will always be destined to enter our world. He was born with magic in his veins, and nothing you do can change that. If you raise him, you need to be prepared to have your life disrupted. We will not just _go away,_ Petunia. You will all be pulled into this when _he_ returns.”

Her fear was palpable. “I thought…I thought he was dead.”

Regulus thought of the necklace locked securely in a box under his floorboards, and mutely shook his head. “He’s not. And when he comes back Harry will be in the line of fire. You cannot protect him.” He met her eyes.

“I can.”

Her face crumbled.

*

“Mind his head,” Petunia murmured, carefully placing the bundled child into Regulus’ arms.

He awkwardly pulled the boy close, staring down at the tiny face with amazement. His gaze caught on the brutal red scar marring the child’s forehead, but it was secondary to the large green eyes that opened blearily, blinking up at him curiously.

Regulus had never held a baby before.

His vision tunnelled, unable to look away from the supposed saviour of the wizarding world. It had taken him months to find this house, months ensuring his plan would work, burying himself in outdated legal practices and blackmailing more than one old acquaintance in the Ministry to look the other way—all without giving away his true identity.

To have everything finally fall into place was still bewildering. 

“Hello, little star,” he breathed. “I am going to look after you from now on.”

He hauled his attention away from the boy. Petunia stood off to the side, arms wrapped around her waist. In one hand, she gripped the documents he had left for her to sign.

“Is it done?” He asked, and she nodded sharply.

Regulus held out a hand, the pages crossing the space between them to land in his palm. He quickly scanned it, finding the signature where he needed it. Relief spread through his chest.

He folded them with one hand, slipping the pages into his pocket.

“You’ll look after him?” She asked, tentative.

Regulus dipped his head, tightening his hold on the boy. “With my life,” he vowed, and though Petunia had not one lick of magic in her, she seemed to understand the gravity of what he just swore. Regulus felt the oath settle in his bones. “You will never have to see either of us again, Petunia. But to keep Harry safe, there is one last thing I need.”

“What—”

 _It is all about intent,_ he thought.

Regulus flicked his wrist, his wand aimed at her and spell cast before she could react.

The yellow cloud burst in her face, her eyes growing dull, body slack. Regulus held out a small bottle, “Take this and serve it with your dinner tonight. Ensure you and your husband eat it.”

Petunia took the memory-hazing potion with a dull smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I do what I want with canon. Hope everyone liked the first chapter, would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> As always, my [tumblr](http://childotkw.tumblr.com) is open. Come along if you want to discover theories, or scream at me, or discuss my new snippets! Thanks guys!


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